


Go Wherever You Wanna Go

by Tipsy_Kitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14344056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: Billie hums under her breath as she waits in the corner of the motel bathroom.





	Go Wherever You Wanna Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyryk (s_k)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/gifts).



> Written for lyryk for the 2018 round of spn-springfling for the prompt _In the course of a lifetime, what does it matter?_ (Umm, I pretty loosely interpreted that quote.) lyryk, I loved writing this pairing, and I never would have considered it without your prompt, so thank you  <3
> 
> Also I tagged this fic for fluff though I'd say it's more...fluff-adjacent, because Supernatural. (But nothing scary happens that isn't canon. Except for "Sweet Caroline.")
> 
> Thanks so much to firesign10 and heeroluva for helping me whip this into shape!

Billie hums under her breath as she waits in the corner of the motel bathroom. It’s almost over, the woman now still and just about finished bleeding out in a gritty bathtub that’s seen better days.

“Fly up to the moon, say hello now,” Billie sings, soft and low, while she waits.

And then it’s done, and the woman is standing beside Billie, both of them staring down at the crumpled, lifeless body.

“Celeste Middleton?” Billie asks. A formality; she hasn't reaped the wrong soul in a dog’s age.

The woman ignores Billie. “Well,” she says glumly. “That could have gone better.”

“It really could have,” Billie agrees.

Celeste looks down at her astral body and then at the broken, bloody thing in the tub.

“Kinda puts things in perspective,” she says.

“That’s what I hear,” Billie says. “Now come with me, love. Got a lot more souls to collect tonight.”

Charlie looks at her then, eyes sharp and assessing, but not fearful. “You’re a reaper?”

“Hmm.”

“Nice jacket.”

It is a nice jacket, but Billie knows stalling for time when she sees it.

“Time to move on, Celeste.”

“It’s Charlie now,” Celeste says. “And, uh, move on to where?”

“That’s not for me to say. But you can’t stay--”

“Yeah, but hasn’t heaven, you know, closed up shop?” Charlie asks. “There is no way I’m spending my afterlife crammed into the veil with a bunch of spirits who are all--” and here she hooks her hands into claws and makes a “Grrr” sound.

Billie takes a deep breath and counts to five.

“So, hey,” Charlie says. “Do you maybe need an apprentice?”

And. Well. There _have_ been a lot of reaper deaths lately.

Billie raises an eyebrow and asks, “How’s your espresso game?”

Charlie beams.

***

Charlie never quite gets the hang of watching people die--especially when she finds out that Billie specializes in violent deaths--but she’s great at putting the newly deceased at ease. Billie had always found the firm, direct approach to work best, but Charlie’s chirpy small talk really does soothe ruffled spirits.

Sometimes too well.

“Nooo!” Charlie gasps, as she talks to their newest reapee, a middle-aged man named Joaquin who stopped at the wrong convenience store en route to a conference in Cleveland.

“Yes!” Joaquin says. “And so just when we think they’re all going to get slaughtered, the dragon just comes out of nowhere and…”

The Gas-N-Sip on US 71 is a bloodbath. Paramedics and police scurry around, multiple reapers trying to stay out of each others’ way while they harvest the unfortunate customers and employees, but Charlie is sitting on the counter with her legs folded beneath her, rapt, as Joaquin tells her--in excruciating detail--what happened last week on some television show about dragons.

Billie has met a few dragons in her time. She wasn’t impressed.

***

Billie sings. A lot. There’s a lot of waiting in the reaping game.

“And the wind did howl and the wind did blow,” Billie sings.

Charlie wrinkles her nose. “What’s with all the murder ballads?” she asks. “Isn’t that a little on the nose? Because I’m sorry, but your songs could use a little more pep.”

“La la la la la,” Billie sings.

“That’s it,” Charlie says. “We need some new tunes.”

Charlie spends a week cracking into angel radio and uses that signal to access every song ever recorded. Then she spends another week creating an algorithm that will sift through those results because she had unfortunately failed to take into account the extreme literalness of angels--there had been over 7 million ‘recordings’ just of “Sweet Caroline,” one for each time it had been sung in a shower or a car or at a party. Charlie had stared in mute horror at her computer screen while that number continued to climb, until Billie started to worry for Charlie’s sanity.

In the end, they have a playlist of 100 million songs in more than 6,000 languages. Charlie swears that it’s set to shuffle mode, but the number of times “Walking on Sunshine” just happens to turn up in the queue is undoubtedly suspicious, in Billie’s opinion.

***

Billie doesn’t let Charlie come with her the first time she meets a Winchester.

Or the next time.

Or the next.

***

“What happened?” Charlie demands, after that irritating angel stabs Billie in the back. “Who did this? I’ll fracking kill them!”

“Think I got a promotion,” Billie says, her voice sounding fragile and far away, and then she collapses.

She’s delirious with fever for three days, but at the end she is reborn.

Charlie stays by her side the whole time.

They decide that she could use a makeover to go with her promotion. Charlie is pleased with the “Deathy vibe” of the black duster Billie picks out.

She’s even more pleased when Billie gives her the brown leather jacket, butter soft from years of wear.

“Did I mention that Death has its own reading room?”

Charlie bounces on her toes in excitement and then throws her arms around Billie’s neck.

And Billie thinks she might just love Charlie.

***

“What’s up, bitches,” Charlie says when the Winchesters have finally finished their fight, and they envelope her in a giant flannel bear-hug.

There’s a welcome party. Once Heaven was brought in line and accepting souls again, Charlie teamed up with some guy named Ash to blow the doors wide open; no more personal heavens. Now it was chaotic and joyful and messy, and Billie approved mostly because she knew it infuriated the angels.

Billie hangs back against the wall and watches. It’s a little awkward; she’d personally reaped more than a dozen of the party-goers. At least that Castiel has the good sense to give her a wide berth.

“You can stay, you know,” Billie says when Charlie pulls her onto the packed dance floor. “Never signed a contract.”

Nobody’s actually dancing, they’re just sort of flailing and hopping around, but Charlie wraps her arms around Billie’s neck and sways against her.

“I can visit,” Charlie counters. “I’d rather stay with you, if you’ll have me.”

“Well,” Billie says, pretending to think about it. “You did seriously oversell your espresso capabilities.”

“Yeah, but you still love me,” Charlie says. Her smile is bright and infectious, and Billie can’t help but smile back.

“Yeah,” Billie says. “Yeah, I really do.”

They kiss then, sweet and soft, as the party swirls on around them.


End file.
